Election Day, 2004- A Year Ago Today
Ohio
Saturday, October 30
There were nearly 80 of us. We gathered in the lobby of the Graybar building, near Grand Central, at 3 PM. We were grouped into last names A-G (red bus) and H-Z (blue bus). At 4 PM, we were through the Lincoln tunnel and on our way. The bus ride to Cleveland was uneventful. When we stopped in Pennsylvania, it seemed to be the first time several of my fellow volunteers had ever been to a truck stop. They were fascinated by the Slim Jims and pep pills and amazing selection of books on tape. At some point in eastern Pennsylvania, our volunteer leader got a call from the campaign office in Cleveland asking for volunteers to monitor polls on election day-
After voter rolls grew so dramatically leading up to the election, we were told that the Republicans would station challengers at several highly Democratic polling stations to question the validity of voters. This move was not entirely unjustified, since many names were added to the voter rolls illegitimately (I read one report that said “Donald Fucking Duck” was registered to vote in Ohio), but we still suspected that the challengers’ chief goal would be to slow the movement of the long lines we expected on Election Day, thereby frustrating would-be voters into turning back before casting their votes. So we were told that they would be needing us to be at the polls from 5 AM to 8 PM doing whatever was necessary to keep people waiting in line until they voted. This raised a number of arguments disguised as questions from several of my busmates who neither seemed capable of empathizing with the stress level of our volunteer leader, nor of simply choosing not to sign up for this duty. “Why 5 AM?!” “Is that constitutional?!” “Will there be restaurants near the polls?”
We arrived at the Super 8 motel outside of Cleveland just before midnight and told that breakfast would be provided at 8 and we would leave at 9. I roomed with Jeff Rosnick, a forty-something year-old software consultant, because he sat next to me on the bus.
Sunday, October 31
We congregated in the Super 8 lobby and a lady from the local Kerry operation brought over a van full of pastries and fresh fruit. The motel provided coffee. Several volunteers were lined up at the front desk, each waiting his or her turn to complain that certain channels were scrambled on the television in his or her room. At around 11 AM, we went to the Ohio City Kerry office, located in downtown Cleveland. There, we were debriefed by a Cleveland native who worked for Senator Kerry's office in DC named Scott Kozar. Scott told us that, in order to win Ohio, Kerry would need to add 44,000 votes to Gore's total in 2000. To achieve this, Scott said, our job was not to change opinion but behavior. We had a short amount of time to reach a large number of likely Kerry voters and make sure that they had a way to get to the polls. Then we were divided into teams of eight, and subdivided into four teams of two, each with a clipboard, voting rights literature, a map and a list of names and addresses to visit. On the way to the voting zone where we'd be going door to door, our bus passed a sign that read "John Kerry is not a true Christian" and had a picture of Kerry wearing a yarmulke and strangling a fetus. We were also told that republican operatives had been spreading the word in poor black neighborhoods that if you hadn't paid your utility bill, you couldn't vote. But we were just supposed to go around reassuring people that they were not only eligible voters, but very important ones. Our script read something like, "Hi, I'm Brian. I'm a volunteer from the Kerry campaign. Are you Gail? Well, as you know, Tuesday's election is the most important election of our lifetime and Senator Kerry needs your vote. Can he count on it? Great. And your polling place is the St. John Nepomucene Elementary School. Do you have a way to get to the polls on Tuesday?" (I use the name Gail because I remember Gail Kelley, a very nice black woman who chased me and my canvassing partner down the block to give us some "orange pop" after coming to her house) I usually deviated and said something like, "I don't have to tell you how close this election is. So if you want a new president, we really need you to get out and vote on Tuesday. So brave the weather, brave the lines and brave the republicans and get out there and vote for Kerry, ok? What? No, I’m sorry this is my last sticker. My, that’s a big dog! Enjoy that sticker, sir."
Many of the addresses on our list were boarded up. Of those that answered the door, most were very friendly and had every intention of voting for Kerry. One guy was outside working on his truck and was very cordial and said that he was seriously considering voting for Kerry but he wasn't sure he could vote for somebody with those kinds of views on gays. I told him, "Well sir, it's really a matter of what you think the most important role of the president is." By 4 PM, kids were starting to trick or treat and you could tell a lot about the conditions of the neighborhood (beyond the boarded up houses) by the costumes kids were wearing. I saw a group of three kids sharing one drug store Batman costume- one kid had the mask, another the cape, another the bib. Just as we were finishing up, a group of young men who each were holding a Bud Light in one hand and a pint of Mad Dog 20/20 in the other came up to shake our hands. One of them said, "This is a bad neighborhood but as long as you got those Kerry stickers on, you'll be alright." When I asked him if he was voting he said, "Hell yeah! I did my time and now I got my vote back!"
We rendezvoused at a convenience store parking lot and the bus took us to the Lakewood campaign headquarters where we ate pizza and then got to work phone banking, once again calling folks predisposed to vote Kerry. All we were doing was making sure that likely Kerry voters would become definite Kerry voters. And for all of the split households I got (“Well, I’m voting for him, but I can’t speak for my husband/wife”), I reached one lady who said, “Honey, I’m wearing a Kerry t-shirt right now. And not much else.” They told us to stop calling at 9 PM, since any later in the evening would be a nuisance.
The next day we found out that our several thousand calls (I must’ve made close to 150) contributed to the Lakewood office being the largest call center in the nation that day- 18,000 calls out of one office!
Monday, November 1
Monday morning, we dawdled around, scrounging for news. The Cleveland Plain Dealer, the local newspaper, devoted equal front page attention to both campaigns. The picture it showed Monday of Bush campaign offices depicted an orderly looking pair of campaign workers behind a neatly organized desk with red, white and blue bunting hanging from the wall behind them. The other photo showed a dissheveled woman holding a sheet of paper up to the light and trying to explain it to a bald, befuddled looking black man while people ran around in the background holding folders that were spilling their papers everywhere.
We learned that the Cleveland branch of the US Circuit Court struck down the Republicans’ bid to station voter challengers at polls in heavily Kerry precincts. The decision stated that the challenging process would slow voting to the point of diminishing the number of votes that could be cast at a precinct. The Republicans appealed and won at 5 AM on Election Day.
We left the motel and went to a suburban strip mall where a Kerry office was running out of a storefront between a Subway and a Party City. Some people stayed there and made phone calls, others, including me, went canvassing. This time we were taken to an upper-middle class neighborhood with nice cars, well-groomed lawns, and elaborate Halloween decorations left over from the night before. Many of the names on our lists sounded eastern European. We were told this was a “Reagan Democrat” neighborhood so we should refrain from mentioning the words “homosexual,” “abortion,” “affirmative” or “action.” As it was the middle of the day, most people weren’t home at all. And of the doors that were answered, the residents of this neighborhood were decidedly less friendly than the black folks of the decrepit neighborhood we had visited the previous day. I guessed our courtship efforts to the people on the fringes of enfranchisement made them feel special, whereas we seemed hucksterish or condescending to people who were accustomed to the luxury of security. In other words, to the poor people, we were knights in shining armor coming valiantly to the rescue. But to the more affluent, deeply entrenched folks we visited, we were like a drunk guy hitting clumsily on the prettiest girl in the bar. On our way back to the bus rendezvous spot, a group of Bush/Cheney canvassers passed by in a car. They stopped in front of us, rolled down their window and said, “You guys look like you need some directions.” I was pissed but I also had to admit it was a pretty good line.
In response to several complaints about the irregular meal hours we had kept on Sunday, the bus took us to Shaker Square, where we were allotted an hour and a half for lunch. There was a campaign office nearby so my plan was to grab a quick sandwich and then run to the office, grab a phone call list and use my cell phone to make campaign calls for as long as I could. But one problem arose- in Cleveland, there is no such thing as fast food. In an empty pizza parlor, one slice took 15 minutes. A sandwich took 20. And, if you don’t voice a strong opinion about ingredients, you wind up with more mayonaise between two slices of bread than the entire island of Manhattan serves in a month. I kept trying to peer back into the kitchens to see the great pyramid of empty mayo jars that had to be keeping that great creamy river flowing, but my view was perpetually blocked by someone trying to figure out which end of the knife to use to slice the tomatoes.
I did manage to get in 20 minutes of phone-banking, reaching several households, all of whom were planning to vote for Kerry.
After the lunch break ended, we reboarded the buses and some of us went back to the motel while others went back out for more canvassing. I went back out for canvassing, this time closer to the poorer neighborhood from the day before. The two hours we had went by uneventfully and then the bus took us to a campaign rally at an outdoor mall downtown, right by the most cryptically named edifice since Grant’s Tomb, Cleveland Browns Stadium.
The stars of this rally would be Bruce Springsteen and John Kerry himself. But it was now 6 PM and we heard that, because Michigan was tighter than expected, they had to make an emergency campaign stop there and their plane wasn’t due to land in Cleveland until 9 PM. We were given blue bracelets that gained us access to a closer part of the rally. We felt very exclusive until we saw the blue bracelet line, which stretched for several blocks. But it moved quickly. By the time we got through security, it was closer to 7. Leading up the main events of the rally, we were treated to two local bands, one of whom referred to Cleveland as “The Mistake by the Lake.” Jane Campbell, the mayor of Cleveland, was the mistress of ceremonies. She introduced several local politicians and national apsirants, including the Democratic senatorial candidate, Eric Fingerhut, who stood no chance up against Republican incumbent George Voinovich. He got the crowd semi-riled up with his call in response “I say ‘Finger’ you say ‘hut!’ Finger! Hut! Finger! Hut!” His most logical plea for votes was his hitching his wagon to Kerry’s star. Since Kerry had a decent shot at winning Ohio, all voters had to do was punch a straight Democratic ticket and Eric Finger! Hut! would be your next senator. Leading up to Fingerhut’s speech had been a few local judges and a prominent clergyman who prayed for continued dry weather and a Kerry victory. But after Fingerhut, Jane Campbell introduced John Sweeney. John Sweeney is the president of the AFL-CIO. Immediately, all around me, local Clevelanders began dialing their cell phones, whispering excitedly, “Guess who’s here… Sweeeeee-ney!” It was obvious the guy was a heavy hitter by mere fact that he ranked higher than a U.S. senatorial candidate, but the reverance shown by so many in the crowd, which had now swelled to over 50,000 was, pretty profound.
As we neared 9 PM, I began to wonder if Cleveland’s most prominent politician was going to be part of the proceedings. Dennis Kucinich was all but assured reelection on Tuesday, but, as the “Boy Mayor of Cleveland,” he wielded enormous influence, with his borderline commie idealism and his primary victory in Hawaii.
Sure enough, Mayor Campbell summoned even more enthusiasm for the next speaker than she had for John Sweeney. And then out burst Dennis Kucinich. Before Mayor Campbell had a chance to position herself for a quick affectionate exchange and microphone hand-off, Kucinich swallowed her whole in a savage bear hug and hung a big wet one on her cheek. Kucinich’s engulfing of the current mayor was all the more spectacular because she was actually bigger than he was. And then he had the microphone and the screaming began. The spirit of all things anti-Bush sent the small man’s body into convulsions as he pitched forward, his buckteeth chopping down so quickly he nearly sheared off his own legs at the knee, his hair flopping after his swooping forehead on a two second delay. Red-faced and spitting, he could barely manage to speak, but the energy he summoned seemed enough to end the Iraq War, stanch the soaring defecits, reclaim the respect of the rest of the world, and put 500,000 Ohioans back to work single-handedly. “We! Are gonna! Elect! John! Kerry! Tomorrow!” But unlike that Howard Dean business (which I had overheard someone at a Hooters in New Hampshire describe as “that Hitler speech”), the spirit of Kucinich’s remarks was contagious. And after having stood for several hours, boredom and fatigue getting the better of our bodies, we were ready to dance with Dennis Kucinich. When he pumped his fist, he took his whole body with him. “John! Kerry! John! Kerry!” And the 50,000 faithful were right with him, inspired by his energy as much as his conviction. Kucinich ended his speech non-verbally, with both arms swinging around and around so animatedly that he appeared to be turning cartwheels.
“We have one more guest before we bring out Bruce Springsteen!” mayor Campbell announced. And, enthusiastic as she sounded, you could detect a slight note of apology in her voice; not for the identity of the speaker, but just for the dragging on of the proceedings. It seemed very ironic to me that the only Ohio politician who could follow a fiery speech by a space cadet like Dennis Kucinich, was an honest to goodness astronaut. Even at 83, John Glenn exudes the dignity and grace of a true gentleman and scholar. His speech was kind of bizarre, though. After a testimonial of respect for Senator Kerry, Senator Glenn lambasted Bush and then went off on a strange tangent. He began by noting that Kerry rated higher than Bush on every category except national security. Sen. Glenn expressed bafflement at this, noting that the Bush campaign had derided Kerry for claiming that he could fight a more sensitive war on terror. Senator Glenn explained plaintively why sensitivity is so important when fighting a war. Then he talked about the decisions that Bush had made in the conduct of the Iraq war. “And when those contractors in Fallujah, the ones whose charred remains were strung up on that bridge on TV…” a major offensive [much like the one launched right after the election] was ordered. But then a deal was struck and the offensive was called off. Then more bombs went off in Fallujah, so the offensive was back on. Senator Glenn said that this ineptitude by the President was the pinnacle of insensitivity- bad strategy, lack of resolve and terrible for the morale of our troops. These were all excellent points, sentient observations, but I got the sense that, in his heyday, Senator Glenn could extemporize quite eloquently. But now, at 83, his skills as an orator were diminished and it might have been better for him to use notes. But the election was only a few hours away and it was too late to wince and worry about every public statement issued by the Democrats. I just hoped that John Glenn’s popularity and his plain-spoken style would net Kerry more votes. But any gains made by John Glenn were surely offset by Teresa Heinz-Kerry.
First of all, she drained the rally of any of the energy that Kucinich had drummed up. Then she spoke with pride of her husband’s love of the world and how much he values the opinions of other countries. It was like listening to a Republican attack ad. And at that moment, I had more respect for John Kerry than ever before. What a trooper he was for continuing to put her in front of the microphone. Surely a four-term senator was politically astute enough to see that Teresa, for all of her virtues as a person, was box office poison on the stump. But he stood behind her all the way, clearly never even coaching her on what to say. I hope I can be that much of a mensch with the girl I marry.
And then, out came Bruce Springsteen. Just him, an acoustic guitar and a harmonica. He played his song, “The Promised Land” and rocked the whole crowd. It was incredible. Then he dedicated a song to the 9-11 widows from his home state, who he referred to as the Jersey Girls, and played one of my favorite of his songs, “Thunder Road.” I had hoped that more people would chime in to sing the last line with him, “It’s a town full of losers and I’m pullin’ outta here to win.” But it was just me shouting and a lot of people nodding in agreement. Then the Boss gave a speech extolling the values that made America great, an openness of heart and mind, a hopefulness, a trust in our leaders. Then he talked about the secrecy and duplicity of the current administration, of their manufactured image of decency and integrity and how starkly it stood in contrast with their record. And for a moment, I am quite certain that all 50,000 audience members seriously considered writing in Bruce Springsteen for president. His last song was the one that Kerry had appropriated since the primaries as his theme, “No Retreat, No Surrender.” He dedicated it to Teresa.
When the Boss was done playing, Kerry came out and gave him a big hug. He said, “Thank you Bruce. You know, when George Bush heard that the Boss was campaigning with me, he thought they were talkin’ about Dick Cheney!” Kerry must have been exhausted. This was it, his last campaign appearance. The cheers of 50,000 fans seemed to move him. And I got the sense that he understood that, though he was not the ideal candidate in many respects, the hopes of millions hung on him and he shouldered this burden gracefully. He tossed out many of his oft-repeated refrains, “rushed to war without a plan to win the peace,” “took his eye off the ball and outsourced the job when we had Osama bin Laden cornered in the mountains of Tora Bora,” “John Edwards and I have a plan to give you the same health insurance that members of Congress have,” “I defended this country as a young man and I’ll defend it as president,” etc. It wasn’t rousing or inspiring as oratory. Nobody’s pulse quickened. But we believed that we would go to work the next day and help deliver victory for the good guys.
Tuesday, November 2
Finally, we went to work before 10 AM. It had been raining since 5, wavering between drizzle and downpour. The front page of the Cleveland Plain Dealer showed a picture of George and Laura Bush in suit and dress, smiling and reaching out to adoring supporters from a dais. On the left side of the front page was a picture of John Kerry in ill-fitting work clothes, locked in a passionate embrace with another man. If you read the caption, or had been there the night before, you would know that this other man was Bruce Springsteen.
We loaded up the bus and were divided once again into teams of eight. My team was dropped off downtown Cleveland with the usual clipboard, maps, lists of names and voters’ rights literature. The name list was a secondary concern. Our area was marked by a bright yellow highlighter outline and we were supposed to knock on every door within that line. Within an hour, the rain had bled away the highlighter ink and we were just going up and down every street we came to, knocking on doors, asking people if they’d voted yet, every now and then running over to the Paul Lawrence Dunbar Elementary School, were this neighborhood would be voting. The lines were never very long, but by 11 AM, over 30% of the eligible voters in the precinct had cast their ballots. At many houses, people answered the doors wearing buttons that read “I Voted Today.” At one house a block from the school, the door opened to a life-sized cardboard cutout of John Kerry. By noon, the paper fastened to the clipboard was mushed and torn. But we had covered our area and then some. The bus picked us up a little before 1 PM and took us to the Ohio City campaign office. We were told by the staff there that things were going well and that there were little or no reports of disruption, intimidation or any other sort of malfeasance coming in from the Kerry lawyers stationed around the county.
I was just finishing my boxed lunch (even the prepackaged sandwiches were soaked in mayo) when a campaign staffer announced, “I need six people from the New York delegation right now!” I leapt to it and next thing I knew, we were piled into Carl’s big blue van. He drove us a few miles out to the roughest neighborhood we’d been to yet, dropping us off in front of Union Elementary school. We split into two teams of three and went to work, door to door. Of all of the houses we visited in three days of canvassing, I’d say half of them had Beware of Dog signs posted on their property. In this area, I counted four signs that said, “Forget the Dog, Beware of Owner.” But we were having luck with voter turnout. The majority of the people we spoke with had already voted. If they hadn’t, I offered to walk them over to the polls right now. A few times, a conversation like this occurred:
“That’s alright, I know where it is.”
“Well, do you need to borrow an umbrella?”
“No thank you.”
“Ma’am, do you want a new president?
“Oh yes.”
“Then let’s go. Come on.”
“Now?”
“Ma’am, if you don’t go vote right now, George Bush is gonna win.”
“Well, I’m not feeling very well. Let me get some rest.”
“Ma’am, you’ll feel even sicker with another four years of George Bush. Come on. Is this your coat?”
By my count, I got eight people who would’ve sat the whole thing out to vote.
At 4 PM, more precinct tallies were posted. These tallies did not offer any data about who people were voting for, but they posted lists of every registered voter in the precinct with a mark beside the names of all who had voted up to that point. This way we could get a count of whether or not our polling location was overperforming the way we needed it to. So we split up, three of us continuing our slog door to door and three going to the school to count how many votes had been cast. The rain was still falling steadily.
A few minutes later, we got a call from a member of the vote-counting team, saying that the polling station was chaos, with noone monitoring the check-in tables, noone providing voter instruction, noone corraling people into the correct voting lines, just a total mess. Our team member urged us to get over the the Union Elementary School to help restore order. People were just getting off of work (well, the minority who still had jobs by the end of Bush’s first term) and we were expecting a rush at the polls. But when we arrived, a strange, hippyish looking man began to interrogate us. He asked us what we wanted, where we were registered, what we thought we were doing. I asked him who he was with and he said, “the campaign.” Then he walked off a few paces, made a quick cell phone call and came back and said, “I have to politely ask you to… you know… see ya later.” I asked him if it was alright if we stood outside and tried to offer help to incoming voters from there and he said that would be fine. It was dark outside now and the rain had picked up again. But we had reached the saturation point and couldn’t get any wetter. I called Kerry headquarters and apprised them of the disorderly situation at our polling station and they told us to get out and canvas some more. So two of us stayed behind to keep an eye on the school in case any help was needed and the rest of us went back into the neighborhood.
After knocking on around eight more doors, someone behind the wheel of a parked car seemed to be waving to me from behind tinted windows. All day long we had been greeted enthusiastically by folks we met in the street, so I hopped over to this car with the sunshiniest demeanor I could muster. The passenger side window went down and a large young black woman with stars tattooed onto her cleavage looked at me and said, “Trick a’treat.” I smiled and said, “Hi, have y’all voted today?” Then the young man with the gangster baseball cap in the back seat said, “Yo, don’t you never approach my car like that.” I started to apologize and he continued, “Get the fuck away from my car now. Now. Right now. Now.” He started to draw something from inside his jacket and I waved goodbye and walked back to where my fellow canvassers were congregated and said, “I’m done cavassing for the day.” It was 7:15 PM.
We all agreed that the onset of night made our job a little bit too dangerous to continue. So we went back by the polling station to pick up the remaining two team members. But we couldn’t find them. When we asked an official poll worker, we were told that, right after we had left, a car screeched up to the school and two men in “republican-looking suits” had gotten out and started grilling everyone in sight, demanding credentials and affiliations. Our Kerry team-members had run and hidden behind the school, afraid that their presence at the polling station might provide cause to disqualify the entire precinct’s vote. I don’t know if that’s true, but, like my run-in with the guy in the car, it wasn’t worth taking any more chances.
A few minutes later, we got a call from Popeye’s a few blocks away. Our hiding teammates had gone there to get out of the rain. Meanwhile, I began to worry that our hopping into Carl’s van had not been duly recorded by the leaders of our New York delegation and that our buses would take off to the results-watching party at the Cleveland Sheraton without us. We had been trying to call Carl for 20 minutes when a young heavy-set guy came into Popeye’s and ordered a sandwich, bellowing loudly, “Easy on the mayo, please!!” We all perked up and he looked at us and said, “You guys with the Kerry campaign?” We all nodded happily and he came over and introduced himself to us. We told him we’d been waiting a long time for our ride and he offered to take us back to the Ohio City campaign office, which we accepted gladly.
Once we were piled into the car, he told us that he was a political consultant from Seattle who was in town to try and help Kerry because he had a two year-old son and if Bush won, well that was just bad parenting on his part. His name had gone in one collective ear and out the other in Popeye’s so we just started to blurt out, “Mike! Sam! Billy!” hoping he might respond. Nothing worked. In retrospect, I think his name was Alexander, but I couldn’t be sure. At any rate, he may not have saved his son, but he certainly saved our asses.
After a few wrong turns, we found the campaign office and sure enough, the buses’ engines were already running. We thanked what’s his name, tumbled out of his rented SUV and right into the buses, incurring funny looks from the rest of our delegation, all of whom had stayed at the office to make more phone calls. The polls were now closed and results were starting to trickle in. I began calling everyone I knew to see what news sources were saying. The picture looked unbelievably rosy. Kerry seemed to be ahead in Ohio, Florida and Pennsylvania, Zogby was predicting over 300 electoral votes for him and Vegas had skewed their odds in his favor. And we, cold, wet and tired, allowed ourselves to believe that we were going to win. There is no doubt in my mind that we all dreamed the same thing at the same time: everyone gathered in front of the tv’s, holding our breaths, holding each other’s hands and watching Ohio turn blue, which would trigger such an outburst of joy, such fierce embracing, such tears of jubilation. We all saw it happening, I’m certain of it.
The bus was making two stops, the first at the Sheraton and the second back at the motel for anyone who wanted to go change clothes. I did not want to change clothes. I wanted to sit down, have a drink and enjoy the fruits of my labors.
We entered the grand ballroom, where three enormous tv screens were broadcasting CNN. It was close to 9 PM and Bush had already racked up over 100 electoral votes while Kerry was still dawdling in double digits. We took off our shoes, let our socks dry and started to drink. Periodically, Sheraton employees would lay out more food on the buffet, but it would be gone in a pirhana-like flurry before I had a chance to eat anything.
Even though none of the swing states had joined the official tally, Bush’s commanding lead was worrisome to me. I told myself it was going how it was supposed to go, but I just began to get the sense that millions of Americans hadn’t noticed what a lousy job this guy had done and I started to wonder how, despite my own residence in an impenetrably liberal stronghold, this momentum Bush surely had would remain confined to rural America. Meanwhile, everyone still was hopeful, still anticipating that moment of victory, and we began to mingle. I met an older couple from Brooklyn who introduced me to a majestic 70 year-old woman named Maureen who had founded the National Organization for Women. Spirits were still pretty high.
Then Florida results started flashing and, very suddenly, things looked bad. Before Florida was called, the South Dakotan senatorial race was won by Jim Thune and that’s when I got scared. I was drunk and thinking melodramatically, but all I could say to myself was, “Oh God, they took down Daschle.” It was then that I finally conceded a great maxim of politics, that voters are clay who can be convinced to vote against their own interest. And I realized that the Republicans’ understanding of this maxim was far deeper and stronger than the Democrats’. Tom Daschle had served his state faithfully for four terms, surely garnering more attention and business for a tiny state than any freshman senator would be able to swing. It seemed so simple to me, but Jim Thune’s campaign had been able to convince the voters of South Dakota of something even simpler and truer, whatever the hell that was. At any rate, that was the moment for me when the night started to feel like some Rovian, one-fell-swoop shit.
Soon after, despite exit polls predicting otherwise all day, Florida went solidly for Bush. Kerry took Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin and, as predicted, it all came down to Ohio. At no point in any official reporting on election night did Kerry hold a lead.
It was also around the time that Daschle lost and Bush got Florida that Dennis Kucinich showed up. I was sad and holding onto a very pretty girl named Ashley for dear life but we disentangled to meet the congressman. As opposed to the the shabby buzzsaw he’d been onstage the night before, he was looking very dapper- tanned, barbered and tailored quite nicely. He had just been reelected himself, and I told him how much I had enjoyed his speech and asked him if they even bothered to run anybody against him. He said something like, “Yeah, but just for show.” Then I asked him how things looked in Ohio and said, “Good. 185 is our magic number.” This meant that we needed 185,000 votes to win. This number had come up from the original 161,000, which was Gore’s total plus the 44,000 they told us we needed to win this time. I wanted to talk to Rep. Kucinish some more but he was busy holding Ashley’s hand and thanking her for all of her help. He leaned in and asked her what she was doing later and she said she wasn’t sure, it depended on how the results wound up. He nodded soulfully, thanked her again and let go of her hand to go and work the room a little bit more. I thought this was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. One minute I was holding a girl tight, the next she was being hit on by the guy who won the 2004 Hawaii Democratic Primary. And he was really cool about it, too. He’s a single guy, he wasn’t sleazy or trying to project any power, just a nice guy interested in a pretty girl. Unfortunately for him, I’m taller, better looking and, at least in the intentional way, funnier.
It was past midnight by now and Ohio still hadn’t been called, nor New Mexico, nor Wisconsin (officially) but I had no hope. We left the Sheraton and took a taxi back to the motel, where we stayed up all night goofing off and keeping our minds way off of the prospect of another four years of Bush.
Wednesday, November 3
The buses left at around 9:30 AM. At 11, we received word that Kerry was conceding. But that wasn’t devastating enough, so, within five minutes of this news, our bus (the red one) blew a flat. We were still in Ohio, still proudly displaying our Kerry paraphernalia, when we pulled into the truck stop to eat while the tire got replaced. A few people who didn’t have time to wait for the red bus to get fixed hopped onto the blue bus. At the truck stop, some of my fellow passengers dropped any pretense of folksiness and started bossing the poor waitresses around, making unreasonably gourmet requests of the kitchen and talking loudly of the toll Tuesday’s weather had taken on their designer socks.
A few surly truckers sat at the counter of the restaurant part of the truck stop muttering remarks under their breaths about liberal elite losers. I tried to concentrate on my chicken fried steak, but I couldn’t help trying to figure out who was pissing me off more, the fat surly pumpkin-teethed truckers or the liberal elite losers with whom I was stuck for another seven or eight hours.
The tire got replaced and as we were boarding it a trucker pointed at the bus and laughed. I said, “That’s not very nice, sir. We all worked very hard for our beliefs.”
He said, “Liberals lose! Liberals lose!”
I said, “We all lose, sir.”
He said, “Not me, buddy. We got a man in the White House now!”
I said, “The guy you think is a man is a chickenshit draft-dodger who’s afraid of little old ladies with microphones.”
He held up both hands, thumbs and index fingers angled and joined into a “W,” while he danced a second-grade taunting dance in his sandles and tube socks. A lady leaned out of the passenger side of the cab of his truck and waved in apology to me and the Kerry crew and begged her excited man to get back into the truck. I was ready to hit the guy but I couldn’t help thinking his W-dance was pretty funny.
The rest of the bus ride was uneventful. I slept a lot. Before getting back to New York, a man named Barry went to the front of the bus to say a few words. He said, “I just want you all to know that it was an honor and a privilege meeting and working with each and every one of you. And most of you are young and you can’t give up. Because when you give up, all hope is lost.”
I guess I’m a flip-flopper myself because I was touched and rolled my eyes at the same time.
The pretty girl that Dennis Kucinich liked held my hand for most of the bus ride back and that was a comfort, and there were aspects of the entire election on which I was able to gain perspective. But the saddest thing that occurred to me was that “To Kill A Mockingbird” is still a true story. Of course, from a practical sense, I was loathe to consider the steps backward and further squandrance of opportunity that our nation faced over the next four years. But what hit me the hardest was that Atticus Finch (and I know that Kerry was an incredibly flawed candidate, but surely in comparison…), with all of the evidence and virtue on his side, continues to face a jury that prefers exercising the power of condemnation to shouldering the burden of justice. And while it’s true that we have made strides since the days of lynchings, German shepherds and church bombings, they seemed to take the electoral playbook from that era, with the word “negro” scratched out and the word “homosexual” filled in, and won.
As an upper-middle class white male, I have to admit that the machinations of government affect me more on principle than through the physical aspects of my daily life. The Patriot Act may anger me, but my phone isn’t tapped. I don’t care how many people smoke a joint in Amsterdam while being professionally fellated, this is the freest country in the world and the majority of ways in which we, as citizenry, interact with our government are through the administering of benevolent services. But our inextricable link is with our fellow citizens who make up the electorate that chose Bush over Kerry. And the fact that the Republicans were able to send nearly 60,000,000 citizens of the greatest country on earth into those booths feeling like pulling that lever for Bush would make the Vienna Boys Choir would sing the national anthem, whereas pulling it for Kerry would get their daughters raped by gay Arabs is a heartbreaking affront to the facts of the Bush presidency. And, to return to Harper Lee’s book, mad as I am at those nasty Ewell’s, it’s the jury that upsets me the most. Because the Ewell’s come and go, but the jury’s there in perpetuity. And people searched their consciences and voted for Bush and I can’t help feeling like the room for improvement is insurmountably vast in a country where so many people ignore truth and embrace lies because the lies’ jingle was catchier. Who knows what other rotten products can be sold in such a susceptible market?
Saturday, October 30
There were nearly 80 of us. We gathered in the lobby of the Graybar building, near Grand Central, at 3 PM. We were grouped into last names A-G (red bus) and H-Z (blue bus). At 4 PM, we were through the Lincoln tunnel and on our way. The bus ride to Cleveland was uneventful. When we stopped in Pennsylvania, it seemed to be the first time several of my fellow volunteers had ever been to a truck stop. They were fascinated by the Slim Jims and pep pills and amazing selection of books on tape. At some point in eastern Pennsylvania, our volunteer leader got a call from the campaign office in Cleveland asking for volunteers to monitor polls on election day-
After voter rolls grew so dramatically leading up to the election, we were told that the Republicans would station challengers at several highly Democratic polling stations to question the validity of voters. This move was not entirely unjustified, since many names were added to the voter rolls illegitimately (I read one report that said “Donald Fucking Duck” was registered to vote in Ohio), but we still suspected that the challengers’ chief goal would be to slow the movement of the long lines we expected on Election Day, thereby frustrating would-be voters into turning back before casting their votes. So we were told that they would be needing us to be at the polls from 5 AM to 8 PM doing whatever was necessary to keep people waiting in line until they voted. This raised a number of arguments disguised as questions from several of my busmates who neither seemed capable of empathizing with the stress level of our volunteer leader, nor of simply choosing not to sign up for this duty. “Why 5 AM?!” “Is that constitutional?!” “Will there be restaurants near the polls?”
We arrived at the Super 8 motel outside of Cleveland just before midnight and told that breakfast would be provided at 8 and we would leave at 9. I roomed with Jeff Rosnick, a forty-something year-old software consultant, because he sat next to me on the bus.
Sunday, October 31
We congregated in the Super 8 lobby and a lady from the local Kerry operation brought over a van full of pastries and fresh fruit. The motel provided coffee. Several volunteers were lined up at the front desk, each waiting his or her turn to complain that certain channels were scrambled on the television in his or her room. At around 11 AM, we went to the Ohio City Kerry office, located in downtown Cleveland. There, we were debriefed by a Cleveland native who worked for Senator Kerry's office in DC named Scott Kozar. Scott told us that, in order to win Ohio, Kerry would need to add 44,000 votes to Gore's total in 2000. To achieve this, Scott said, our job was not to change opinion but behavior. We had a short amount of time to reach a large number of likely Kerry voters and make sure that they had a way to get to the polls. Then we were divided into teams of eight, and subdivided into four teams of two, each with a clipboard, voting rights literature, a map and a list of names and addresses to visit. On the way to the voting zone where we'd be going door to door, our bus passed a sign that read "John Kerry is not a true Christian" and had a picture of Kerry wearing a yarmulke and strangling a fetus. We were also told that republican operatives had been spreading the word in poor black neighborhoods that if you hadn't paid your utility bill, you couldn't vote. But we were just supposed to go around reassuring people that they were not only eligible voters, but very important ones. Our script read something like, "Hi, I'm Brian. I'm a volunteer from the Kerry campaign. Are you Gail? Well, as you know, Tuesday's election is the most important election of our lifetime and Senator Kerry needs your vote. Can he count on it? Great. And your polling place is the St. John Nepomucene Elementary School. Do you have a way to get to the polls on Tuesday?" (I use the name Gail because I remember Gail Kelley, a very nice black woman who chased me and my canvassing partner down the block to give us some "orange pop" after coming to her house) I usually deviated and said something like, "I don't have to tell you how close this election is. So if you want a new president, we really need you to get out and vote on Tuesday. So brave the weather, brave the lines and brave the republicans and get out there and vote for Kerry, ok? What? No, I’m sorry this is my last sticker. My, that’s a big dog! Enjoy that sticker, sir."
Many of the addresses on our list were boarded up. Of those that answered the door, most were very friendly and had every intention of voting for Kerry. One guy was outside working on his truck and was very cordial and said that he was seriously considering voting for Kerry but he wasn't sure he could vote for somebody with those kinds of views on gays. I told him, "Well sir, it's really a matter of what you think the most important role of the president is." By 4 PM, kids were starting to trick or treat and you could tell a lot about the conditions of the neighborhood (beyond the boarded up houses) by the costumes kids were wearing. I saw a group of three kids sharing one drug store Batman costume- one kid had the mask, another the cape, another the bib. Just as we were finishing up, a group of young men who each were holding a Bud Light in one hand and a pint of Mad Dog 20/20 in the other came up to shake our hands. One of them said, "This is a bad neighborhood but as long as you got those Kerry stickers on, you'll be alright." When I asked him if he was voting he said, "Hell yeah! I did my time and now I got my vote back!"
We rendezvoused at a convenience store parking lot and the bus took us to the Lakewood campaign headquarters where we ate pizza and then got to work phone banking, once again calling folks predisposed to vote Kerry. All we were doing was making sure that likely Kerry voters would become definite Kerry voters. And for all of the split households I got (“Well, I’m voting for him, but I can’t speak for my husband/wife”), I reached one lady who said, “Honey, I’m wearing a Kerry t-shirt right now. And not much else.” They told us to stop calling at 9 PM, since any later in the evening would be a nuisance.
The next day we found out that our several thousand calls (I must’ve made close to 150) contributed to the Lakewood office being the largest call center in the nation that day- 18,000 calls out of one office!
Monday, November 1
Monday morning, we dawdled around, scrounging for news. The Cleveland Plain Dealer, the local newspaper, devoted equal front page attention to both campaigns. The picture it showed Monday of Bush campaign offices depicted an orderly looking pair of campaign workers behind a neatly organized desk with red, white and blue bunting hanging from the wall behind them. The other photo showed a dissheveled woman holding a sheet of paper up to the light and trying to explain it to a bald, befuddled looking black man while people ran around in the background holding folders that were spilling their papers everywhere.
We learned that the Cleveland branch of the US Circuit Court struck down the Republicans’ bid to station voter challengers at polls in heavily Kerry precincts. The decision stated that the challenging process would slow voting to the point of diminishing the number of votes that could be cast at a precinct. The Republicans appealed and won at 5 AM on Election Day.
We left the motel and went to a suburban strip mall where a Kerry office was running out of a storefront between a Subway and a Party City. Some people stayed there and made phone calls, others, including me, went canvassing. This time we were taken to an upper-middle class neighborhood with nice cars, well-groomed lawns, and elaborate Halloween decorations left over from the night before. Many of the names on our lists sounded eastern European. We were told this was a “Reagan Democrat” neighborhood so we should refrain from mentioning the words “homosexual,” “abortion,” “affirmative” or “action.” As it was the middle of the day, most people weren’t home at all. And of the doors that were answered, the residents of this neighborhood were decidedly less friendly than the black folks of the decrepit neighborhood we had visited the previous day. I guessed our courtship efforts to the people on the fringes of enfranchisement made them feel special, whereas we seemed hucksterish or condescending to people who were accustomed to the luxury of security. In other words, to the poor people, we were knights in shining armor coming valiantly to the rescue. But to the more affluent, deeply entrenched folks we visited, we were like a drunk guy hitting clumsily on the prettiest girl in the bar. On our way back to the bus rendezvous spot, a group of Bush/Cheney canvassers passed by in a car. They stopped in front of us, rolled down their window and said, “You guys look like you need some directions.” I was pissed but I also had to admit it was a pretty good line.
In response to several complaints about the irregular meal hours we had kept on Sunday, the bus took us to Shaker Square, where we were allotted an hour and a half for lunch. There was a campaign office nearby so my plan was to grab a quick sandwich and then run to the office, grab a phone call list and use my cell phone to make campaign calls for as long as I could. But one problem arose- in Cleveland, there is no such thing as fast food. In an empty pizza parlor, one slice took 15 minutes. A sandwich took 20. And, if you don’t voice a strong opinion about ingredients, you wind up with more mayonaise between two slices of bread than the entire island of Manhattan serves in a month. I kept trying to peer back into the kitchens to see the great pyramid of empty mayo jars that had to be keeping that great creamy river flowing, but my view was perpetually blocked by someone trying to figure out which end of the knife to use to slice the tomatoes.
I did manage to get in 20 minutes of phone-banking, reaching several households, all of whom were planning to vote for Kerry.
After the lunch break ended, we reboarded the buses and some of us went back to the motel while others went back out for more canvassing. I went back out for canvassing, this time closer to the poorer neighborhood from the day before. The two hours we had went by uneventfully and then the bus took us to a campaign rally at an outdoor mall downtown, right by the most cryptically named edifice since Grant’s Tomb, Cleveland Browns Stadium.
The stars of this rally would be Bruce Springsteen and John Kerry himself. But it was now 6 PM and we heard that, because Michigan was tighter than expected, they had to make an emergency campaign stop there and their plane wasn’t due to land in Cleveland until 9 PM. We were given blue bracelets that gained us access to a closer part of the rally. We felt very exclusive until we saw the blue bracelet line, which stretched for several blocks. But it moved quickly. By the time we got through security, it was closer to 7. Leading up the main events of the rally, we were treated to two local bands, one of whom referred to Cleveland as “The Mistake by the Lake.” Jane Campbell, the mayor of Cleveland, was the mistress of ceremonies. She introduced several local politicians and national apsirants, including the Democratic senatorial candidate, Eric Fingerhut, who stood no chance up against Republican incumbent George Voinovich. He got the crowd semi-riled up with his call in response “I say ‘Finger’ you say ‘hut!’ Finger! Hut! Finger! Hut!” His most logical plea for votes was his hitching his wagon to Kerry’s star. Since Kerry had a decent shot at winning Ohio, all voters had to do was punch a straight Democratic ticket and Eric Finger! Hut! would be your next senator. Leading up to Fingerhut’s speech had been a few local judges and a prominent clergyman who prayed for continued dry weather and a Kerry victory. But after Fingerhut, Jane Campbell introduced John Sweeney. John Sweeney is the president of the AFL-CIO. Immediately, all around me, local Clevelanders began dialing their cell phones, whispering excitedly, “Guess who’s here… Sweeeeee-ney!” It was obvious the guy was a heavy hitter by mere fact that he ranked higher than a U.S. senatorial candidate, but the reverance shown by so many in the crowd, which had now swelled to over 50,000 was, pretty profound.
As we neared 9 PM, I began to wonder if Cleveland’s most prominent politician was going to be part of the proceedings. Dennis Kucinich was all but assured reelection on Tuesday, but, as the “Boy Mayor of Cleveland,” he wielded enormous influence, with his borderline commie idealism and his primary victory in Hawaii.
Sure enough, Mayor Campbell summoned even more enthusiasm for the next speaker than she had for John Sweeney. And then out burst Dennis Kucinich. Before Mayor Campbell had a chance to position herself for a quick affectionate exchange and microphone hand-off, Kucinich swallowed her whole in a savage bear hug and hung a big wet one on her cheek. Kucinich’s engulfing of the current mayor was all the more spectacular because she was actually bigger than he was. And then he had the microphone and the screaming began. The spirit of all things anti-Bush sent the small man’s body into convulsions as he pitched forward, his buckteeth chopping down so quickly he nearly sheared off his own legs at the knee, his hair flopping after his swooping forehead on a two second delay. Red-faced and spitting, he could barely manage to speak, but the energy he summoned seemed enough to end the Iraq War, stanch the soaring defecits, reclaim the respect of the rest of the world, and put 500,000 Ohioans back to work single-handedly. “We! Are gonna! Elect! John! Kerry! Tomorrow!” But unlike that Howard Dean business (which I had overheard someone at a Hooters in New Hampshire describe as “that Hitler speech”), the spirit of Kucinich’s remarks was contagious. And after having stood for several hours, boredom and fatigue getting the better of our bodies, we were ready to dance with Dennis Kucinich. When he pumped his fist, he took his whole body with him. “John! Kerry! John! Kerry!” And the 50,000 faithful were right with him, inspired by his energy as much as his conviction. Kucinich ended his speech non-verbally, with both arms swinging around and around so animatedly that he appeared to be turning cartwheels.
“We have one more guest before we bring out Bruce Springsteen!” mayor Campbell announced. And, enthusiastic as she sounded, you could detect a slight note of apology in her voice; not for the identity of the speaker, but just for the dragging on of the proceedings. It seemed very ironic to me that the only Ohio politician who could follow a fiery speech by a space cadet like Dennis Kucinich, was an honest to goodness astronaut. Even at 83, John Glenn exudes the dignity and grace of a true gentleman and scholar. His speech was kind of bizarre, though. After a testimonial of respect for Senator Kerry, Senator Glenn lambasted Bush and then went off on a strange tangent. He began by noting that Kerry rated higher than Bush on every category except national security. Sen. Glenn expressed bafflement at this, noting that the Bush campaign had derided Kerry for claiming that he could fight a more sensitive war on terror. Senator Glenn explained plaintively why sensitivity is so important when fighting a war. Then he talked about the decisions that Bush had made in the conduct of the Iraq war. “And when those contractors in Fallujah, the ones whose charred remains were strung up on that bridge on TV…” a major offensive [much like the one launched right after the election] was ordered. But then a deal was struck and the offensive was called off. Then more bombs went off in Fallujah, so the offensive was back on. Senator Glenn said that this ineptitude by the President was the pinnacle of insensitivity- bad strategy, lack of resolve and terrible for the morale of our troops. These were all excellent points, sentient observations, but I got the sense that, in his heyday, Senator Glenn could extemporize quite eloquently. But now, at 83, his skills as an orator were diminished and it might have been better for him to use notes. But the election was only a few hours away and it was too late to wince and worry about every public statement issued by the Democrats. I just hoped that John Glenn’s popularity and his plain-spoken style would net Kerry more votes. But any gains made by John Glenn were surely offset by Teresa Heinz-Kerry.
First of all, she drained the rally of any of the energy that Kucinich had drummed up. Then she spoke with pride of her husband’s love of the world and how much he values the opinions of other countries. It was like listening to a Republican attack ad. And at that moment, I had more respect for John Kerry than ever before. What a trooper he was for continuing to put her in front of the microphone. Surely a four-term senator was politically astute enough to see that Teresa, for all of her virtues as a person, was box office poison on the stump. But he stood behind her all the way, clearly never even coaching her on what to say. I hope I can be that much of a mensch with the girl I marry.
And then, out came Bruce Springsteen. Just him, an acoustic guitar and a harmonica. He played his song, “The Promised Land” and rocked the whole crowd. It was incredible. Then he dedicated a song to the 9-11 widows from his home state, who he referred to as the Jersey Girls, and played one of my favorite of his songs, “Thunder Road.” I had hoped that more people would chime in to sing the last line with him, “It’s a town full of losers and I’m pullin’ outta here to win.” But it was just me shouting and a lot of people nodding in agreement. Then the Boss gave a speech extolling the values that made America great, an openness of heart and mind, a hopefulness, a trust in our leaders. Then he talked about the secrecy and duplicity of the current administration, of their manufactured image of decency and integrity and how starkly it stood in contrast with their record. And for a moment, I am quite certain that all 50,000 audience members seriously considered writing in Bruce Springsteen for president. His last song was the one that Kerry had appropriated since the primaries as his theme, “No Retreat, No Surrender.” He dedicated it to Teresa.
When the Boss was done playing, Kerry came out and gave him a big hug. He said, “Thank you Bruce. You know, when George Bush heard that the Boss was campaigning with me, he thought they were talkin’ about Dick Cheney!” Kerry must have been exhausted. This was it, his last campaign appearance. The cheers of 50,000 fans seemed to move him. And I got the sense that he understood that, though he was not the ideal candidate in many respects, the hopes of millions hung on him and he shouldered this burden gracefully. He tossed out many of his oft-repeated refrains, “rushed to war without a plan to win the peace,” “took his eye off the ball and outsourced the job when we had Osama bin Laden cornered in the mountains of Tora Bora,” “John Edwards and I have a plan to give you the same health insurance that members of Congress have,” “I defended this country as a young man and I’ll defend it as president,” etc. It wasn’t rousing or inspiring as oratory. Nobody’s pulse quickened. But we believed that we would go to work the next day and help deliver victory for the good guys.
Tuesday, November 2
Finally, we went to work before 10 AM. It had been raining since 5, wavering between drizzle and downpour. The front page of the Cleveland Plain Dealer showed a picture of George and Laura Bush in suit and dress, smiling and reaching out to adoring supporters from a dais. On the left side of the front page was a picture of John Kerry in ill-fitting work clothes, locked in a passionate embrace with another man. If you read the caption, or had been there the night before, you would know that this other man was Bruce Springsteen.
We loaded up the bus and were divided once again into teams of eight. My team was dropped off downtown Cleveland with the usual clipboard, maps, lists of names and voters’ rights literature. The name list was a secondary concern. Our area was marked by a bright yellow highlighter outline and we were supposed to knock on every door within that line. Within an hour, the rain had bled away the highlighter ink and we were just going up and down every street we came to, knocking on doors, asking people if they’d voted yet, every now and then running over to the Paul Lawrence Dunbar Elementary School, were this neighborhood would be voting. The lines were never very long, but by 11 AM, over 30% of the eligible voters in the precinct had cast their ballots. At many houses, people answered the doors wearing buttons that read “I Voted Today.” At one house a block from the school, the door opened to a life-sized cardboard cutout of John Kerry. By noon, the paper fastened to the clipboard was mushed and torn. But we had covered our area and then some. The bus picked us up a little before 1 PM and took us to the Ohio City campaign office. We were told by the staff there that things were going well and that there were little or no reports of disruption, intimidation or any other sort of malfeasance coming in from the Kerry lawyers stationed around the county.
I was just finishing my boxed lunch (even the prepackaged sandwiches were soaked in mayo) when a campaign staffer announced, “I need six people from the New York delegation right now!” I leapt to it and next thing I knew, we were piled into Carl’s big blue van. He drove us a few miles out to the roughest neighborhood we’d been to yet, dropping us off in front of Union Elementary school. We split into two teams of three and went to work, door to door. Of all of the houses we visited in three days of canvassing, I’d say half of them had Beware of Dog signs posted on their property. In this area, I counted four signs that said, “Forget the Dog, Beware of Owner.” But we were having luck with voter turnout. The majority of the people we spoke with had already voted. If they hadn’t, I offered to walk them over to the polls right now. A few times, a conversation like this occurred:
“That’s alright, I know where it is.”
“Well, do you need to borrow an umbrella?”
“No thank you.”
“Ma’am, do you want a new president?
“Oh yes.”
“Then let’s go. Come on.”
“Now?”
“Ma’am, if you don’t go vote right now, George Bush is gonna win.”
“Well, I’m not feeling very well. Let me get some rest.”
“Ma’am, you’ll feel even sicker with another four years of George Bush. Come on. Is this your coat?”
By my count, I got eight people who would’ve sat the whole thing out to vote.
At 4 PM, more precinct tallies were posted. These tallies did not offer any data about who people were voting for, but they posted lists of every registered voter in the precinct with a mark beside the names of all who had voted up to that point. This way we could get a count of whether or not our polling location was overperforming the way we needed it to. So we split up, three of us continuing our slog door to door and three going to the school to count how many votes had been cast. The rain was still falling steadily.
A few minutes later, we got a call from a member of the vote-counting team, saying that the polling station was chaos, with noone monitoring the check-in tables, noone providing voter instruction, noone corraling people into the correct voting lines, just a total mess. Our team member urged us to get over the the Union Elementary School to help restore order. People were just getting off of work (well, the minority who still had jobs by the end of Bush’s first term) and we were expecting a rush at the polls. But when we arrived, a strange, hippyish looking man began to interrogate us. He asked us what we wanted, where we were registered, what we thought we were doing. I asked him who he was with and he said, “the campaign.” Then he walked off a few paces, made a quick cell phone call and came back and said, “I have to politely ask you to… you know… see ya later.” I asked him if it was alright if we stood outside and tried to offer help to incoming voters from there and he said that would be fine. It was dark outside now and the rain had picked up again. But we had reached the saturation point and couldn’t get any wetter. I called Kerry headquarters and apprised them of the disorderly situation at our polling station and they told us to get out and canvas some more. So two of us stayed behind to keep an eye on the school in case any help was needed and the rest of us went back into the neighborhood.
After knocking on around eight more doors, someone behind the wheel of a parked car seemed to be waving to me from behind tinted windows. All day long we had been greeted enthusiastically by folks we met in the street, so I hopped over to this car with the sunshiniest demeanor I could muster. The passenger side window went down and a large young black woman with stars tattooed onto her cleavage looked at me and said, “Trick a’treat.” I smiled and said, “Hi, have y’all voted today?” Then the young man with the gangster baseball cap in the back seat said, “Yo, don’t you never approach my car like that.” I started to apologize and he continued, “Get the fuck away from my car now. Now. Right now. Now.” He started to draw something from inside his jacket and I waved goodbye and walked back to where my fellow canvassers were congregated and said, “I’m done cavassing for the day.” It was 7:15 PM.
We all agreed that the onset of night made our job a little bit too dangerous to continue. So we went back by the polling station to pick up the remaining two team members. But we couldn’t find them. When we asked an official poll worker, we were told that, right after we had left, a car screeched up to the school and two men in “republican-looking suits” had gotten out and started grilling everyone in sight, demanding credentials and affiliations. Our Kerry team-members had run and hidden behind the school, afraid that their presence at the polling station might provide cause to disqualify the entire precinct’s vote. I don’t know if that’s true, but, like my run-in with the guy in the car, it wasn’t worth taking any more chances.
A few minutes later, we got a call from Popeye’s a few blocks away. Our hiding teammates had gone there to get out of the rain. Meanwhile, I began to worry that our hopping into Carl’s van had not been duly recorded by the leaders of our New York delegation and that our buses would take off to the results-watching party at the Cleveland Sheraton without us. We had been trying to call Carl for 20 minutes when a young heavy-set guy came into Popeye’s and ordered a sandwich, bellowing loudly, “Easy on the mayo, please!!” We all perked up and he looked at us and said, “You guys with the Kerry campaign?” We all nodded happily and he came over and introduced himself to us. We told him we’d been waiting a long time for our ride and he offered to take us back to the Ohio City campaign office, which we accepted gladly.
Once we were piled into the car, he told us that he was a political consultant from Seattle who was in town to try and help Kerry because he had a two year-old son and if Bush won, well that was just bad parenting on his part. His name had gone in one collective ear and out the other in Popeye’s so we just started to blurt out, “Mike! Sam! Billy!” hoping he might respond. Nothing worked. In retrospect, I think his name was Alexander, but I couldn’t be sure. At any rate, he may not have saved his son, but he certainly saved our asses.
After a few wrong turns, we found the campaign office and sure enough, the buses’ engines were already running. We thanked what’s his name, tumbled out of his rented SUV and right into the buses, incurring funny looks from the rest of our delegation, all of whom had stayed at the office to make more phone calls. The polls were now closed and results were starting to trickle in. I began calling everyone I knew to see what news sources were saying. The picture looked unbelievably rosy. Kerry seemed to be ahead in Ohio, Florida and Pennsylvania, Zogby was predicting over 300 electoral votes for him and Vegas had skewed their odds in his favor. And we, cold, wet and tired, allowed ourselves to believe that we were going to win. There is no doubt in my mind that we all dreamed the same thing at the same time: everyone gathered in front of the tv’s, holding our breaths, holding each other’s hands and watching Ohio turn blue, which would trigger such an outburst of joy, such fierce embracing, such tears of jubilation. We all saw it happening, I’m certain of it.
The bus was making two stops, the first at the Sheraton and the second back at the motel for anyone who wanted to go change clothes. I did not want to change clothes. I wanted to sit down, have a drink and enjoy the fruits of my labors.
We entered the grand ballroom, where three enormous tv screens were broadcasting CNN. It was close to 9 PM and Bush had already racked up over 100 electoral votes while Kerry was still dawdling in double digits. We took off our shoes, let our socks dry and started to drink. Periodically, Sheraton employees would lay out more food on the buffet, but it would be gone in a pirhana-like flurry before I had a chance to eat anything.
Even though none of the swing states had joined the official tally, Bush’s commanding lead was worrisome to me. I told myself it was going how it was supposed to go, but I just began to get the sense that millions of Americans hadn’t noticed what a lousy job this guy had done and I started to wonder how, despite my own residence in an impenetrably liberal stronghold, this momentum Bush surely had would remain confined to rural America. Meanwhile, everyone still was hopeful, still anticipating that moment of victory, and we began to mingle. I met an older couple from Brooklyn who introduced me to a majestic 70 year-old woman named Maureen who had founded the National Organization for Women. Spirits were still pretty high.
Then Florida results started flashing and, very suddenly, things looked bad. Before Florida was called, the South Dakotan senatorial race was won by Jim Thune and that’s when I got scared. I was drunk and thinking melodramatically, but all I could say to myself was, “Oh God, they took down Daschle.” It was then that I finally conceded a great maxim of politics, that voters are clay who can be convinced to vote against their own interest. And I realized that the Republicans’ understanding of this maxim was far deeper and stronger than the Democrats’. Tom Daschle had served his state faithfully for four terms, surely garnering more attention and business for a tiny state than any freshman senator would be able to swing. It seemed so simple to me, but Jim Thune’s campaign had been able to convince the voters of South Dakota of something even simpler and truer, whatever the hell that was. At any rate, that was the moment for me when the night started to feel like some Rovian, one-fell-swoop shit.
Soon after, despite exit polls predicting otherwise all day, Florida went solidly for Bush. Kerry took Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin and, as predicted, it all came down to Ohio. At no point in any official reporting on election night did Kerry hold a lead.
It was also around the time that Daschle lost and Bush got Florida that Dennis Kucinich showed up. I was sad and holding onto a very pretty girl named Ashley for dear life but we disentangled to meet the congressman. As opposed to the the shabby buzzsaw he’d been onstage the night before, he was looking very dapper- tanned, barbered and tailored quite nicely. He had just been reelected himself, and I told him how much I had enjoyed his speech and asked him if they even bothered to run anybody against him. He said something like, “Yeah, but just for show.” Then I asked him how things looked in Ohio and said, “Good. 185 is our magic number.” This meant that we needed 185,000 votes to win. This number had come up from the original 161,000, which was Gore’s total plus the 44,000 they told us we needed to win this time. I wanted to talk to Rep. Kucinish some more but he was busy holding Ashley’s hand and thanking her for all of her help. He leaned in and asked her what she was doing later and she said she wasn’t sure, it depended on how the results wound up. He nodded soulfully, thanked her again and let go of her hand to go and work the room a little bit more. I thought this was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. One minute I was holding a girl tight, the next she was being hit on by the guy who won the 2004 Hawaii Democratic Primary. And he was really cool about it, too. He’s a single guy, he wasn’t sleazy or trying to project any power, just a nice guy interested in a pretty girl. Unfortunately for him, I’m taller, better looking and, at least in the intentional way, funnier.
It was past midnight by now and Ohio still hadn’t been called, nor New Mexico, nor Wisconsin (officially) but I had no hope. We left the Sheraton and took a taxi back to the motel, where we stayed up all night goofing off and keeping our minds way off of the prospect of another four years of Bush.
Wednesday, November 3
The buses left at around 9:30 AM. At 11, we received word that Kerry was conceding. But that wasn’t devastating enough, so, within five minutes of this news, our bus (the red one) blew a flat. We were still in Ohio, still proudly displaying our Kerry paraphernalia, when we pulled into the truck stop to eat while the tire got replaced. A few people who didn’t have time to wait for the red bus to get fixed hopped onto the blue bus. At the truck stop, some of my fellow passengers dropped any pretense of folksiness and started bossing the poor waitresses around, making unreasonably gourmet requests of the kitchen and talking loudly of the toll Tuesday’s weather had taken on their designer socks.
A few surly truckers sat at the counter of the restaurant part of the truck stop muttering remarks under their breaths about liberal elite losers. I tried to concentrate on my chicken fried steak, but I couldn’t help trying to figure out who was pissing me off more, the fat surly pumpkin-teethed truckers or the liberal elite losers with whom I was stuck for another seven or eight hours.
The tire got replaced and as we were boarding it a trucker pointed at the bus and laughed. I said, “That’s not very nice, sir. We all worked very hard for our beliefs.”
He said, “Liberals lose! Liberals lose!”
I said, “We all lose, sir.”
He said, “Not me, buddy. We got a man in the White House now!”
I said, “The guy you think is a man is a chickenshit draft-dodger who’s afraid of little old ladies with microphones.”
He held up both hands, thumbs and index fingers angled and joined into a “W,” while he danced a second-grade taunting dance in his sandles and tube socks. A lady leaned out of the passenger side of the cab of his truck and waved in apology to me and the Kerry crew and begged her excited man to get back into the truck. I was ready to hit the guy but I couldn’t help thinking his W-dance was pretty funny.
The rest of the bus ride was uneventful. I slept a lot. Before getting back to New York, a man named Barry went to the front of the bus to say a few words. He said, “I just want you all to know that it was an honor and a privilege meeting and working with each and every one of you. And most of you are young and you can’t give up. Because when you give up, all hope is lost.”
I guess I’m a flip-flopper myself because I was touched and rolled my eyes at the same time.
The pretty girl that Dennis Kucinich liked held my hand for most of the bus ride back and that was a comfort, and there were aspects of the entire election on which I was able to gain perspective. But the saddest thing that occurred to me was that “To Kill A Mockingbird” is still a true story. Of course, from a practical sense, I was loathe to consider the steps backward and further squandrance of opportunity that our nation faced over the next four years. But what hit me the hardest was that Atticus Finch (and I know that Kerry was an incredibly flawed candidate, but surely in comparison…), with all of the evidence and virtue on his side, continues to face a jury that prefers exercising the power of condemnation to shouldering the burden of justice. And while it’s true that we have made strides since the days of lynchings, German shepherds and church bombings, they seemed to take the electoral playbook from that era, with the word “negro” scratched out and the word “homosexual” filled in, and won.
As an upper-middle class white male, I have to admit that the machinations of government affect me more on principle than through the physical aspects of my daily life. The Patriot Act may anger me, but my phone isn’t tapped. I don’t care how many people smoke a joint in Amsterdam while being professionally fellated, this is the freest country in the world and the majority of ways in which we, as citizenry, interact with our government are through the administering of benevolent services. But our inextricable link is with our fellow citizens who make up the electorate that chose Bush over Kerry. And the fact that the Republicans were able to send nearly 60,000,000 citizens of the greatest country on earth into those booths feeling like pulling that lever for Bush would make the Vienna Boys Choir would sing the national anthem, whereas pulling it for Kerry would get their daughters raped by gay Arabs is a heartbreaking affront to the facts of the Bush presidency. And, to return to Harper Lee’s book, mad as I am at those nasty Ewell’s, it’s the jury that upsets me the most. Because the Ewell’s come and go, but the jury’s there in perpetuity. And people searched their consciences and voted for Bush and I can’t help feeling like the room for improvement is insurmountably vast in a country where so many people ignore truth and embrace lies because the lies’ jingle was catchier. Who knows what other rotten products can be sold in such a susceptible market?
posted by Person at 7:19 AM
0 comments
